


The Brooding Man on the Barstool

by NegativeOpia



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Brazil, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lucy gives him the journal, garcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegativeOpia/pseuds/NegativeOpia
Summary: “What the hell are you looking at?” He grumbled, making no move to hide his frustration. He meant to scare the girl, but she continued to stare at him with a strange look.Fascination?“You look like hell." The woman remarked, scanning his worn eyes and tattered clothes. Flynn scoffed.“Yeah, well I just got back.” He raised the glass to his lips,“Chin up, Garcia,” the woman said, turning to face him fully. “Things will get better,”Flynn’s lips parted in surprise, whirling his head making proper eye contact with the strange woman for the first time since she sat down. His voice came out in a broken whisper.“How the hell do you know my name?”***Lucy gives the journal to Flynn in a one-shot I wrote over two years ago and finally decided to post now.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Lucy Preston, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	The Brooding Man on the Barstool

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this isn't quite how Brazil turned out, but I decided to post this anyway. Enjoy!

Garcia Flynn had no reason to walk into this specific bar, on this specific day in Sao Paulo, Brazil. He had accepted an odd job that morning, splitting stone in a rock quarry to earn some petty cash. After nine hours of backbreaking labor, he had earned the equivalent of $150.

Not worth it.

The bar he waltzed into was practically empty, a group of five men huddling in the corner being the sole patrons. Garcia made his way to the bar. It took him all of 5 seconds to decide that he would spend the remainder of the day there, and maybe even the night.

2 hours later, the bar was no busier than it had been earlier that afternoon. Stragglers wandered in and out, but nobody to make Flynn suspicious that he had been followed.

“Another one,” he grumbled. The bartender looked over him warily before obeying, nodding his head as he poured the distraught stranger yet another whiskey. Garcia Flynn accepted the refill with a grunt, barely acknowledging the server as he swallowed half of the drink. Slamming the glass on the dark bar top, he shook his head clear.

The bartender, Manny, did a cautious once-over of the 6-foot man, now caught in a thousand yard stare. His black hair stood up in all directions as bags pooled under his red-rimmed eyes. His clothes were tattered and torn, his unbuttoned collared shirt exposing bruises along his upper chest. If the bartender hadn't known better, he’d assume this man had walked straight out of a beating. Whether giving it or receiving, he looked…awful.

The music in the cantina wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the front door opening, the top corner striking a bell suspended from the ceiling. Garcia Flynn looked up momentarily as he watched the man behind the bar greet whoever had entered the small cantina. Manny looked delighted to finally have a customer other than the brooding man on the barstool.

“ _Bem-vindo!_ ” The bartender said, just a tad too happily. Garcia heard no response, merely the tapping of footsteps approaching from behind him.

“ _Berber?_ ” Manny inquired, leaning against the bar. Garcia was still trapped in his stare, but was not ignorant to the fact that the new guest was being quiet. A little too quiet. Cautiously, his eyes shifted from the ground to the mirror behind the bar. To say the least, he was surprised with what he saw.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” A female voice replied. The guest was a woman in her early 40’s, her hair was dark and her eyes were the color of almonds. She was petite; if he were to stand up, he would dwarf her instantly. She was dressed plainly: a white t-shirt and jeans, with a navy blue backpack slung over her shoulder. A slight breeze blew in from the open window, causing her dark waves to flow across her face. Garcia had to admit, the girl was beautiful. 

They locked eyes through the mirror’s reflection.

Seeing himself, Garcia was repulsed. He was covered in grease and dirt, the lines on his face were more defined than ever. Flynn broke the eye contact first, turning his face back down to the bar.

As he heard the bartender pour the girl her drink, he saw her slide onto the stool next to him out of the corner of his eye. He picked his head up to look around him; every single seat in the hole in the wall bar was empty. Yet she sat next to him.

“This seat taken?” She asked, craning her head to meet his eyes. Flynn didn’t acknowledge her, taking another swig of his whiskey. Despite his lack of response, the girl settled in next to him, taking a small sip of her drink.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Manny realized it was in his best interest to take up his side work cleaning the tables in the back. Flynn may have been distracted by the current fucked up state of his life, but he wasn’t stupid. The woman was looking at him as if she was expecting something. He waited for her to give up whatever she had planned to do, pay the bartender, and walk away. Of all the people in Sao Paulo, Garcia Flynn was definitely not the most approachable.

He let a few more moments pass of her stare before he turned to face her.

“What the hell are you looking at?” He grumbled, making no move to hide his frustration. He meant to scare the girl, but she continued to stare at him with a strange look.

Fascination?

“You look like hell." The woman remarked, scanning his worn eyes and tattered clothes. Flynn scoffed.

“Yeah, well I just got back.” He raised the glass to his lips,

“Chin up, Garcia,” the woman said, turning to face him. “Things will get better,”

Flynn’s lips parted in surprise, whirling his head making proper eye contact with the strange woman for the first time since she sat down. He adjusted his posture to face her, no longer slouching over the bar top. His voice came out in a broken whisper.

“How the hell do you know my name?” Panic was rising in his stomach- had they found him? Had the bastards who killed his family finally come for him? He began to rise in his seat.

“I know everything about you, Garcia Flynn,” she said, holding his eye contact with confidence. “I know what happened 3 weeks ago. I know your wife and daughter were murdered.” Flynn shot up, but the woman barely even flinched. She rose to her feet as well. “And I know who killed them.”

Flynn shook his head, tears welling in his eyes,

“Who are you?” he breathed, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. He knew he looked terrifying and dangerous, yet the girl stayed calm and collected. As if she knew he had no intention of hurting her. He stepped closer to her; she took no step back.

“My name is Lucy Preston. You don’t know me, not yet, but one day…” She took a deep breath, knowing this was her last chance to abandon this crusade once and for all. But looking at the desperation in his eyes, she couldn’t help but pity him. He told her, two years from this moment, that he was sitting at that very bar considering suicide. Hopeless. And that she was the one to pull him to safety. Who is she to decide against that? With the release of her breath, she cast out the lifeline that would save him from himself,

“One day, we are going to work together to destroy the people who did this to you.”

“And why would I believe anything you say?” Flynn was getting angrier, his familiar lack of control shining through,

“Because they destroyed my life too,” she said. Flynn was taken aback, his features shifting slightly. Lucy continued.

“The organization you’re looking for is called Rittenhouse. The same people you investigated when you worked for the NSA-”

“How do you-”

Lucy cut him off.

“They’re far more powerful than you think. They are willing to kill hundreds to achieve their goals; goals that would destroy the future.” Lucy peeled the backpack off her arm, placing it on the barstool,

“The future?” Garcia asked, running his hands through his hair. He watched Lucy’s movements meticulously as she dug through the bag,

“Rittenhouse is working on technology that will allow them to change history in their favor. It won’t be completed for two years, but once it’s finished, Rittenhouse will be unstoppable.” Lucy’s hand emerged with what looked like a small book. She made her way to a table in near the exit, placing the book on the corner.

“What do you mean?” Flynn followed, crossing the room eagerly,

“We can’t let that happen, you understand?” Lucy turned to face him, “ _You_ can’t let that happen,”

“What kind of…technology?” He licked his lips, his stomach churning with the mix of adrenaline and whiskey. Lucy looked at Flynn with ease, unlike most people. Since he went on the run, everyone he encountered usually feared him. Perhaps it was his build, or his bruises or his funny accent. But no one had looked at him quite like Lucy Preston was at that moment; not since…

Not since Lorena.

Lucy took a deep breath, as if the words about to leave her mouth were precious,

“It’s a time machine.” She admitted, “And if Rittenhouse gets their hands on it…it’s over,”

“A time machine.” Flynn shook his head in disbelief. He backed into the table, resting his hands on the edge. He looked to Lucy, the woman who had been a complete stranger not moments ago. This woman who he barely knew, coming to him with the answer to every prayer he’d recited since his family’s death.

A time machine.

Flynn shook his head,

“That’s impossible.”

Lucy rounded the table, stopping in front of him,

“I was born in 1983,” she said, tilting her head. At Flynn’s shock, she continued, “As we speak there’s another me, 32 years old, running to catch the bus for a job interview at Stanford University.” Flynn watched as she laughed to herself, eyes lighting up at the memory. “God she has no idea. She’s…” Lucy’s eyes met Flynn’s once again, “Innocent,”

Garcia took a deep breath, his head spinning. Lucy picked the book up from the table, handing it to him,  
“This is everything you need to know,” she whispered. Flynn eyed Lucy’s offer, his gaze shifting from the book to her face,

“Need to know about what?” He asked, his hands tracing the scruff on his face,

“About everything.”

Flynn reached out tentatively, taking the black book in his hands. The bottom corner was engraved with two silver letters: LP. Lucy Preston.

“This is yours?” Garcia asked, already knowing the response. Lucy nodded,

“It’s my journal. In it contains everything you need to do for the next few years. If you follow what I wrote, we can stop Rittenhouse.” Flynn traced the leather, noting the small grooves covering the entirety of the journal.

“What about you?” He asked, thumbing the pages,

“You’ll meet me soon enough,” Lucy replied, flashing a gentle smile. “We won’t be friends, though. Not at first. But trust me, eventually, we make a pretty good team.” Lucy crossed the room, picking up her backpack,

“Be careful what you read. Knowing your future can be…terrifying,” She called from across the room. She stopped for a moment,

“Garcia,” She said. Flynn looked up from the journal in his hands, “What I wrote; I say that you’re going to do some bad things. To people…and to me. You have to do it,” Flynn furrowed his brows in confusion, “Whatever you do, follow the journal. Even if it’s me telling you that you’re crazy. Even if it’s me…begging you to let me go.” Lucy looked down, picking the bag up and crossing the room to him once again. She slowed to a stop in front of him,

“I know it’s hard, Flynn, but we’re just getting started,” She looked into his exhausted eyes, seeing a new light in them. She smirked, remembering the last time she had seen him,

“Why do we do it?” Flynn whispered, examining her features, engraving them into his brain. Lucy swallowed hard,

“Because we have hope,” She replied,

“Hope in what? A journal? A time machine-”

“Hope that somehow, some way,” Lucy smiled, her memories of their time to come flooding into her mind, “We can save the people we love,”

Lucy stood on her toes, reaching up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. She saw the heat and confusion rise to his face. She stroked his rough stubble, watching his eyes search hers. Smiling once more, she stepped back, turning to leave.

“Lucy,” Flynn called after her. She stopped and looked back at him,

“Do we succeed?” He asked, radiating a sense of hope she hadn’t expected. She shook her head,

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” she called back, opening the door before he could question her further. Stepping out to the busy street, Lucy released a breath she had been holding for what felt like ages. She turned towards the bar one last time,

“We both will.”


End file.
